Separation of Church and Fake

The following was originally published in the February 18 edition of the Dayton Daily News and was made possible, as are all things, by the grace of John Travolta and Tom Cruise.

The Church of Scientology has its fair share of well-documented detractors. Those people are just jealous.

And who wouldn’t be with some of the amazing membership benefits that have recently come to light in an article in The New Yorker?

First, actor Josh Brolin discussed the time when, in “a moment of real desperation,” he visited the church’s Celebrity Centre. What, your church doesn’t have one?

So much like your church it's scary.

Brolin decided Scientology just wasn’t for him after receiving his “auditing.” And who can blame him? Getting together all of those receipts is exhausting.

Oh, it says here that in Scientology, “auditing” is a sort of spiritual counseling session. Well, still sounds painful.

So Josh says it’s not his thing. OK, fine. To each his own. But imagine how red his face must have been when a few years later he was at a dinner party with John Travolta and in walked Marlon Brando with a painful cut on his leg, sustained after helping a stranded motorist on the Pacific Coast Highway. That’s when, according to Brolin, Travolta sprang into action, offering to help and saying that he had just “reached a new level.” Then Travolta proceeded to touch the cut leg as Brando closed his eyes.

“Then, after ten minutes,” Brolin explains, “Brando opens his eyes and says, ‘That really helped. I actually feel different!’ ”

Wow. That is a miracle. Marlon Brando actually left his house. I thought that sort of thing only happened in the movies. Glory to John in the highest!

And don’t worry about the fact that Brando didn’t say anything about feeling better. He felt “different,” which is essentially the same thing when you think about it. He felt bad, then he felt different. Better is different than bad. See, now don’t you feel different?

Through his lawyer, Travolta calls the story “pure fabrication,” but what’s he going to say? If he reveals that he is, in fact, a healer, he’d have people coming up to him constantly asking him to lay hands upon them. It’s just not practical.

Then there’s the story about John Brosseau, an ex-Scientologist and Tom Cruise staffer, who was ordered by church leader David Miscavigealong to construct a custom limousine for the star, as well as two motorcycles and an airport hangar. You know, the things every church has fellow parishioners make for each other.

Although, “ordered” makes it sound like they were toiling away with no reward, when in fact Brosseau says each person on the project was paid $50 a week and was assured they were “working for the betterment of mankind.” Glory to Tom in the highest!

If that’s the case, accepting $50 a week seems greedy and excessive on the part of Brosseau and the other staffers. Shame on them. If you’re truly working on a limo that will serve to advance humanity, how dare you accept compensation?

And from a church, no less. They’re probably struggling to scrape together the funds for a new community center and you put them in a position like that?

In a final example of the religion’s clear, not at all baseless benefits, actress Kirstie Alley proclaims she would be dead if it wasn’t for Scientology.

“Without Scientology, I would be dead,” she said. See, told you.

She says the religion helped her “lose her craving for cocaine.” Evidently, church leaders are still working on transferring this amazing power into the realm of Hostess snack cakes.

That must be at the next level.

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Lists That Actually Matter: Top 5 Habits of the Annoying Driver

"So, is this your first time? Driving! I mean driving!"

I drive to work. If you drive to work, chances are I hate you. Because chances are, you do one of these five things, if not two or three of them. And if you do, I don't wish harm or an untimely end on you, as some other, less measured people might. On the contrary, I hope you have many years ahead, just with an unexplained tickle in your anus that never goes away. I hope you spend years seeing doctors and trying to treat it with hundreds of pungent creams and ointments that make maintaining any level of intimacy with your significant other nearly impossible. But you stay together for your kids, who, by the way, will start telling friends that you're dead because it's easier than telling them the truth. Then the discomfort gets to the point where sitting, even with a specially designed doughnut pillow, is an unpleasant experience and you have to stop driving to work. Either that or your car breaks down. Whatever gets you off the road.

See the list HERE.

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Chemical Charlie

The following was originally published in the March 4 edition of the Dayton Daily News. Inject it directly into your bloodstream to enjoy the hilarity more immediately. 

Moments later, he snorted one up each nostril.

I think we can all agree that the time for somebody to call out Thomas Jefferson is long overdue.

That’s why I was so pleased to hear a recent interview on a syndicated radio program that apparently exists called The Alex Jones Show with the totally, completely, really sober Charlie Sheen.

In the interview, Sheen covered everything from the creator of Two and a Half Men, Chuck Lorre (a “clown” and a “turd”), to his dad Martin Sheen (“Quit panicking.”) to that scourge Jefferson.

“He was a p---y,” an obviously clearheaded Sheen suggested of the third president of the United States.

Thank you. It’s about time that somebody put Thomas Jefferson in his place. The man has gotten a pass for far too long. He was a namby-pamby even by his day’s powdered wig-wearing standards and I’m glad somebody finally said it.

Now before you dismiss this as just the ramblings of the same wild, out-of-control Charlie Sheen you remember from way back in the early last weeks, you should know that he’s completely sober now. I know because he said so.

Just not in so many words. Or, I guess not in that word, “sober.” Because that word is for “sissies.” Like Thomas Jefferson!

But he is cured, even though what he had was not, as his father had suggested in recent interviews, a disease.

“I have a disease? Bulls--t. I cured it with my brain,” Charlie said.

I don’t think I have to explain to you what this revelation, if true, could mean for the fields of disease prevention and medical research. This could be a huge breakthrough. The one we’ve been waiting years for.

Of course, Charlie Sheen’s Brain is not right for everyone, so be sure to consult your physician before starting a regimen. Side effects include sore liver, junkie face, drunkenstumblebum and ol’ sunken eyes.

Women who have dignity or may develop dignity should not take Charlie Sheen’s Brain. Stop taking Charlie Sheen’s Brain immediately if you develop nosebleeds or thoughts of destroying a hotel room or a marriage, as these could be a signs of a more serious problem.

Oh, and don’t you think for a second that Sheen’s new clean lifestyle had anything to do with Alcoholics Anonymous, that “bootleg cult founded by an LSD addict who wrote a book of lies.”

“Their success rate is only five percent,” he said. “Compared to [my] success rate of 100 percent. Do the math!”

I did. My numbers came out inconclusive. I wasn’t really sure if I was supposed to be adding, subtracting, multiplying or dividing though.

“I’m so tired of pretending like my life isn’t perfect and b--chin’ and just winning every second,” Sheen continued, saying that he was tired of dealing with people like you. All the “fools and trolls whose judgment and stupidity comes from having to lay down with their ugly wives in front of their ugly children and just look at their loser lives.”

Yeah, you probably like Thomas Jefferson, too.

But the good news is, just because you’re awful and probably worth more to your ugly loved ones dead than alive, there is a cure.

Talk to your doctor about Charlie Sheen’s brain today, so you can stop sucking and start winning every second.

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Lists That Actually Matter: Eight Forgotten Facial Hair Successes of 90s Chicago Baseball

Not pictured: George's Hennessy

The 1990s were a tumultuous time in baseball. Labor strife wiped out the 1994 postseason. Steroid use was widespread amongst many marquee players. Expansion teams were added despite the fact that their uniforms contained numerous shades of purple and/or teal. But it wasn't all bad. The 1990s were a golden age for attractive facial hair throughout major league clubhouses. And nowhere was that more evident than in Chicago, a town that appreciates a good mustache as much as it does a well cased meat. So who stood out in a diverse field of distinguished gentlemen?

See the list HERE.


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Dear Tony: Take My Advice Before I Force It Upon You

Amateur.

My friends and loved ones are always coming to me for advice. They'll ask, "How do I get you to go away?" or "What would it take for you to leave me and my family alone?" I must be doing something right, because they continue to come back to me over and over with questions just like these. Knowing that, how can I, in good conscience, keep my gift of guidance away from all of the people out there who are in search of direction. It would be a crime.

So I've decided to start answering the thousands upon thousands of letters that come pouring in from people around the country in need of a nudge in the right direction. To Dear Abby. Sorry, I left that part off. The thousands upon thousands of letters that come pouring in to Dear Abby.

See the problem is, nobody sends me letters seeking advice ... yet. So until tomorrow when everybody has seen what I can do and my inbox fills up with advice seekers, I'll just have to cherry pick off of Abby. Whose real name is actually Jeanne Phillips, by the way. Seems kind of strange, no? Someone whom you're supposed to trust implicitly with a major life decision can't even do you the courtesy of giving you their real name? Just know that whatever your problem, you can always put your trust in me, Dr. Fredrick J. Sotheby III, Esq. On to the letters:

DEAR ABBY TONY: Our son has not spoken to us in 2 1/2 years. This isn't the first time it has happened. When we are asked how he and his family are doing and where they are living, we don't know how to respond. What do we say when meeting someone new and they ask whether we have children?

If we answer that we have one son, a number of questions are sure to follow for which we don't have answers. Can you offer some appropriate responses to these questions that don't require having to say, "We don't know"? -- NEEDS AN ANSWER IN VIRGINIA

DEAR NEEDS AN ANSWER: This is a tricky one because no one likes to have awkward conversations, especially regarding such a sensitive family issue. Say you're at a party and you're talking to someone you know. Your best bet is to concoct stories about your son that ensure people will want to avoid asking any follow up questions. For example:

Nosy friend: How is Billy?
You: He's an abortion doctor.
Nosy friend: (voice full of regret) Um, I ... I think I'm going to grab a few more of these finger sandwiches.

Or, in the case of a person you don't know asking about your family:

Nosy stranger: Do you have any kids?
You: No, better. I have kitties!

In either case, you've sent a clear message that you are a person with which all conversation should be avoided. Pretty hard to answer questions about your estranged son when nobody wants to speak to you. Problem solved.

DEAR ABBY TONY: My best friend "Diane" and I have known each other since we were children. She has always had difficulty in her relationships with men. In the last three years, she has begun dating married men. She was sure the latest one was the man of her dreams, but it was short-lived and destroyed his marriage. Diane rationalizes what she's doing by saying the men will cheat anyway, so why not with her?

Diane is now in love with someone new. If he leaves his wife and children for her, this will be another home Diane has helped break up. She wants my blessings and for me to get along with her boyfriend. Being a married woman and a mother, I sympathize with the wives of these men.

Why has my best friend become a home wrecker? What can I do to avoid being pulled into this affair without losing her friendship? -- MORALLY COMPROMISED IN MICHIGAN

DEAR MORALLY COMPROMISED: I'm sorry, I kind of zoned out there after your first sentence.  I apologize. Totally my fault. I didn't do it on purpose. I just really don't care about some random lady's friends, you know? Is that bad? That's probably bad. At least in this forum, I guess. OK, tell you what, give me a minute to skim your letter and get the gist of it, then I'll come back and tell you what I think ...

All right, I'm back. So, your friend Diane, she sounds nice. But if she's trying to keep you from dating married men, you have to tell her to butt out. Try softening that request by adding "Buttinsky" at the end. You'll both get a good laugh and she'll completely forget that you slept with her husband.

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Is It News: Gay Man Holds Baby Edition

BREAKING:

Is this news? I don't know, is there any sort of photographic proof?

So it's true! Verdict: News.

Via

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Like Mother, Like Tiger

The following was originally published in the February 4 edition of the Dayton Daily News and has been credited with single-handedly saving the newspaper industry.

You’re all worthless and weak.

And there’s a reason for it. Your mom.

Ha, ha, ha, no friend, I assure you I haven’t filled this column with a series of Wilmer Valderrama approved “Yo Momma” jokes, each more cutting and “aw snap” inducing than the next. Though, as is the case every week, I thought about it.

Instead, we’re going to talk about the phenomenon that is being a “tiger mother.” If you haven’t heard of it, allow me to tiger mom upside yo head for a second: You are stupid. Why don’t you read more, you lazy slug?

Undoctored photo

Boom, tiger mom’d.

See? It’s the verbally abusive parenting sensation that’s sweeping the nation! Only in this case, China is the nation.

Now it’s been introduced to America by Yale law professor Amy Chua in her much-talked-about book “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.” Being a tiger mother involves putting extremely strict, some would say draconian, methods that are commonplace in China into practice when raising a child in the Western world.

In the book, Chua details incidents like the time she called her daughter “garbage,” the time she threatened to burn all of her daughter’s stuffed animals and the time she threw a hand-drawn birthday card back at her daughter explaining, “I deserve better than this. So I reject this.” Cherished family memories, each of them.

The card incident is amazing. I’ve received countless crudely drawn birthday cards in my life, some even from children. I had no idea you could reject them. I’ve been accepting them this whole time, and saying thank you. I’m so weak. I blame you, mom.

That’s it. From now on, when somebody, regardless of age, fails to meet my expectations, I’m definitely going to turn into a tiger. Not literally, like attorney Doug Mann of Dyer, Garofalo, Mann and Schultz does when you’ve been in an accident that’s no fault of your own, but psychologically. After all, why should kids have all the crippling mental breakdowns fun?

But those with children are probably sitting at home right now wondering if being a tiger parent is right for them. Well, just take this handy 12-question survey to find out.

SO YOU’VE DECIDED TO EAT YOUR YOUNG …
Please circle all that apply:

1. I am a tiger and/or I have stripes. (If yes, congratulations, your survey is complete.)

2. The sound of children’s laughter fills me with rage.

3. If a child has time to sleep, they have time to practice violin.

4. If a child has time to practice violin, they have time to solve complex mathematical equations.

5. If children have time to cry, they have time to do both simultaneously while I spit watermelon seeds at their heads.

6. Sleepovers are not allowed, even if a child’s cage is large enough for two.

7. I will choose all of my child’s extracurricular activities. Whether they actually enjoy cobbling is of no concern to me.

8. Fire says more than words ever could.

9. Birthday parties are nothing more than a vehicle for superfluous cake and/or cheerful singing.

10. Cake and cheerful singing fill me with rage.

11. If a child wants to play house, they can climb on the roof and clean out the gutters.

12. When times are hard, I draw strength from the vial of my children’s tears I wear around my neck.


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Lists That Actually Matter: Top 10 Ugliest Features of Impossibly Attractive People

Oh, hey. Just having my bare chested afternoon tea.

It's day three of Ugly Week here at Lists That Actually Matter and my fellow heartthrobs and I couldn't be happier with the results. But as we approach the mid-point of Ugly Week (a most solemn and reflective time) we also want to be very clear that ugliness is not confined to just outward appearances. Beauty is only skin deep, you know? And underneath is a bunch of blood and poop and connective tissue that would make you gag if you had to look at it regularly, Slim Goodbody notwithstanding. But there are many other ways in which otherwise attractive people can ugly themselves up.

See the list HERE.


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A Message to My Nonexistent, Unborn Future Children About Googling Their Father

Hi kid(s), it's daddy. Well, you're here so I assume we've avoided that whole universally infertile Children of Men society, which is good.

I'll also assume that since you're here you've Googled my name. Hey, before we get to that, is your homework done? Then what the hell are you doing messing around online?! I assume we've already had this discussion and hence, I do not want to have it again. Do you want me to take away your cell phone(s), provided such things still exist when you're reading this and doctors haven't just started implanting communication chips into children's brains at birth? Don't roll your eyes at me young lady/ladies/man/men. Don't think you won't be spanked, if I'm still alive and you're not yet at an age where it would be peculiar to do so. Go to your room.

No, wait. I'm sorry. Come back here, kiddo(s). Have a seat. I'm glad you're here. There's something I've been wanting to talk to you about and, as with most aspects of parenting, it's much easier to let a machine do the legwork rather than address it with you directly.

OK, so you've Googled me. Listen, I want to be straight with you about this so you understand what daddy was doing when he wrote the things you may have come across in your searches. So here goes.

You've probably noticed some vulgarity and other words used that I've forbidden you from using yourself. You've also probably found reference to topics that I've deemed unsuitable for discussion at the dinner table or elsewhere. Now before you label me a hypocrite, I think it's important that I be totally honest and forthcoming with you. A frank and open discussion is what this all about. I think you can handle it.

I want you to know that each of those words was carefully chosen for a very specific reason. And that reason is that I worked on behalf of the U.S. government, sending confidential coded messages to intelligence forces around the world who were out there defending our freedom against those who wished to destroy it. (Get home safe, guys!) Mom was involved, too. That scar on her cheek she always said was from a dog bite? Uh-uh. Knife fight, Chechen rebels, Moscow subway tunnel. She got out. The rebels ... *puts on sunglasses* ... missed their stop.

As far as my role, it was simple, really. In a typical post, every third letter of every seventh word corresponded with that letter's position in the alphabet. Those numbers communicated a set of global coordinates for a rendezvous point where an agent would find his or her horse for that mission. Attached to the saddle would be directions to a safe. The horse would then be blindfolded (can't take any chances) and the two would ride under cover of darkness to their destination. Upon arrival, the agent would open the safe by using another code, this one made up of the last letter of the last word of every sentence in the post with an odd number of words.

Once inside the safe, agents would find the basics for each mission: a dossier containing a detailed profile of his or her target(s) as well as the standard issue laser watch, ninja throwing star belt buckle, cyanide pill cuff links, fake mustaches and Tide-to-Go stain removal pen.

At that point, the horse was shot (again, can't take any chances) and my knowledge of the mission objectives ended.

Ah, it feels good to finally be honest with you. You see, don't you feel silly for thinking ill of your old man now? This was all for the good of the country, and to protect your future. Of course, in an ironic twist, now that you know all of this, you'll have to be killed.

Let this be a lesson to you. Never question your father under any circumstances. But I'm still glad we had this talk, kiddo(s). Hey, who wants ice cream for their last meal?


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Highlights and Lowlights from New York Fashion Week: An Insider's Guide to Fabulous

Another New York Fashion Week has come and gone, and what a week it was! Easily the best this reporter has ever seen. And as usual, it ran the gamut, from the practicality of Zander Nouveau's ready-to-wear furniture to the surreal, post-apocalyptic sundresses from Thom Guzzardo. 

By the time we arrived at the closing ceremony, where garments deemed unsuitable or unnecessary are burned in front of a group of needy families, there were enough moments, memories and styles to last a lifetime. Or at least a trend cycle!

We certainly saw a little bit of everything this year. A collection made entirely of baby hair? Check. The return of Velcro shoes? Check. Avian models? Yep, had those too (pulled off, as regular readers likely guessed, by the visionaries at Boysenberry). In are powdered wigs and capri shirts. Out are neck braces and two-tone leather hats.

So who were the big winners and losers? As you might guess with a subject this open to interpretation, opinions are varied. It's like we in the business always say, "One man's sock, is another man's thumbless mitten." But as usual, there were plenty of obvious hits and misses. Here are some who distinguished themselves, for better or worse.

Winners
Ö
The German prodigy had his detractors coming in to this week. "Too raw," they said. "Too daffy." He silenced them. A show featuring models slathered in honey straddling hibernating bears will do that. The honey could have made properly lighting the intricately embroidered dickies a real headache, but it was pulled off with aplomb. Sorry naysayers, Ö is a rising star. Get yourself a telescope.


Sandra Fernandez Sanchez Rodriguez
Fernandez Sanchez Rodriguez thrilled us (what else is new?) with her gritty Adobe Tree House collection. Partially inspired by her working class youth spent rock farming in southern Arizona, it's shabby chic meets shabby. The eco-friendly garments are constructed of 90% recycled dirt clumps and cannot be sweat in or worn in precipitation.


Serfs
Not the Norwegian thread house located in the fishing village of Fjellværsøya, but the actual low level assistants who normally spend much of Fashion Week alternating corners in which to quietly weep. But I cannot recall a year when I saw fewer reduced to tears. By this reporter's count, only two headsets were broken backstage, and only one was purposely bashed over someone's skull. So for the first time in my 18 years of attending this event, I can say: good for you, sad, poorly compensated disposables doing all of the actual work.

Horatio Fellatio
His codpieces have been talked about in underground circles for decades, but they've only recently gained mainstream recognition. It's much deserved and long overdue. The intricate feathering and hand stitching on his Dream Catcher line is unlike anything else available in the world of crotch pouches. So breathtaking was the presentation that Target made an immediate bid to carry the collection in their stores. Will it be palatable to the masses? Who cares. It's the definition of fierce.


Losers
Thor Sanskrit
Sanskrit's backstory is well documented. Born eight months premature with only half an eye, he was mistakenly placed in a trash bin outside the hospital where he still lives to this day. He began studying at the knee of legendary designer Jeffery St. George at age 12, so he has the pedigree. But half an eye or not, there's no excuse for the translucent inseam on his otherwise marvelous stirrup bodysuits.


Fever Dream
Ever the promotional innovators, Brooklyn duo Fever Dream began a viral marketing blitz surrounding their pet project, Unperfect, months in advance of their show. The buzz coming in was considerable. Some said it was a collection of leather neckties for women. Others said scarves that were acually venomous snakes. But the collection was revealed to be nothing more than a reinterpretation of their already popular macramé turtlenecks. Seen it.


Bertrams & Van Nord
Pierce Bertrams and Giles Van Nord have outfitted everyone from Ke$ha to the Archduke of Liechtenstein. They're firmly established in the consciousness of both the culturally elite and the general public. They're untouchable. Teflon. And that's the problem, they know it. Which explains why, when the curtain was pulled back to unveil their Troubadour "collection," there was but a rack of empty hangers there to greet a stunned audience. Brilliant. But then, the hangers never made their way down the catwalk. Were they plastic? Metal? Could they have been wood? Or maybe they had those clips on them that almost never work? I wish I could tell you. We never got a good look. Pure hubris.


Yoshi Han Yoshi
This was supposed to be the cult fashion icon's arrival on the grandest stage, but all in attendance agreed this one missed the mark. Going with a pilgrim theme was risky. Also making them clowns was even riskier. Sorry, Yoshi. We could have overlooked the buckle shoes if they weren't also comically oversized.


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